Chapter Thirty-Six
Adrian
I stood in the doorway of my living room, watching them in the soft glow of the quiet TV and piranha tank.
Isla was curled up on my massive leather sectional, her blonde hair spilling across the cushions, peaceful despite everything she'd endured today.
Crew lay sprawled beside her, fighting a losing battle with sleep as the movie played on.
The kid had my respect now. He'd handled himself today with maturity and had a little killer streak himself.
I'd changed into all black tactical pants, a fitted long-sleeve shirt that wouldn't restrict my movements, and combat boots laced tight enough to kick in skulls.
The familiar weight of my jade knife hung at my hip, its presence as comforting as a lover's touch.
A few more blades were strapped to various points on my body, each one eager to taste Noah's blood .
The duffel bag near the door contained specialized equipment that would make tonight's work both efficient and educational.
Noah was going to wish he’d never been born.
Crew's eyes flickered to me, sleep vanishing as he took in my appearance.
The transformation from boyfriend to predator was obvious in every line of my body, in every shadow that clung to my black clothing.
He understood immediately. He gave me a small, appreciative nod, his jaw set with determination that reminded me of his big sister.
Moving silently across the room, I crouched beside the couch.
"Take care of her for me," I whispered, my voice low enough not to disturb Isla's sleep.
"Call if anything happens—anything at all. Don't open the door for anyone but me, Connor, or Jax. Security’s been posted outside."
"I will," he promised, his voice serious beyond his high school years. "Are you going to..." he trailed off, eyes flicking to his sleeping sister before returning to me.
I smiled, but there was nothing warm in the expression.
“Don't worry about the details. Just know Noah won't be a problem after tonight."
Something dark and vicious flashed in Crew's eyes, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that sent chills down my spine.
"Good. Make the bastard fucking bleed. Cut him up slow."
Shit . I had to bite back a grin.
The kid's bloodthirst was deeper than I'd expected—hungry for violence in a way that made me nod with approval.
"Make sure he knows exactly why he's dying," Crew continued, leaning forward with dark intensity.
"Make him regret every fucking breath he took near her."
Maybe he could be my prodigy—it was like looking in a mirror ten years ago.
"I want to get strong like you," he added suddenly, voice still pitched low and dangerous .
“I want to learn to fight. To hurt people. Teach me to break people who threaten those I care about.”
I studied his familiar face, the sharp intelligence behind those blue eyes, the way his jaw clenched like he was already imagining his fists connecting with targets.
"I'll teach you everything," I promised, ruffling his hair with genuine pride. "And I know just the sparring partner for you."
“Who?”
“My coach’s son. His name’s Elliott.”
I grinned. They'd complement each other perfectly. The fire and the fuel. The predator and prey who didn’t know the other was game.
I was already picturing how this would play out.
Elliott's quiet meeting Crew's apparent bloodthirst. The shy kid who blushed, paired with the tall, dangerous boy who looked like he'd rather set the world on fire than take a hit.
It would be beautiful to watch. The shy one learning to embrace his power, the aggressive one learning finesse.
They'd push each other, compete with each other, maybe even…
Yeah. The dynamic was already forming in my head, crystal clear and absolutely perfect.
“He's trained before, but still has that baby face. Solid technique but needs someone to push him harder." I smirked. "You're taller, though, got more of that killer instinct. You'd challenge each other, bring out the best in both of you. "
Something flickered in Crew's expression, anticipation mixed with competitive excitement. "Sounds like good training."
"Exactly. He's got the experience, you've got the fire. Both eager to prove yourselves." I paused. "Perfect sparring match."
I reached out, ruffling his hair lightly. “Now get some sleep and watch that mouth when she wakes up. I'll be back before morning."
"I've got her," he said simply, and I believed him. The protective instinct ran strong in the Hills family .
Rising to my full height, I allowed myself one more look at Isla, my angel, my obsession, the center of my fucking universe.
She'd been through hell because of Noah, and now it was time to return the favor with lots of interest.
The walk to my private garage was a ritual of transformation.
With each step, Adrian the boyfriend, faded away, replaced by the monster I kept carefully leashed around Isla.
By the time the garage doors opened, revealing our black party bus in its designated spot, the predator was fully awake.
The vehicle was a work of art—heavily customized, windows tinted beyond legal limits, body reinforced to withstand direct hits.
It had carried us through countless nights like this one, silent and loyal as a hunting hound.
I tossed the duffel into the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel, my phone lighting up with a text as the engine came to life.
Connor
Everything’s ready.
Perfect. My brothers had retrieved Noah from the clinic where they'd deposited him earlier—a little transaction aided by a substantial "donation" to the right administrative fund.
The beauty of money was how efficiently it greased wheels that should, ethically, remain immovable.
The drive through the late-night streets was meditation in motion.
Each mile that passed brought me closer to the reckoning I'd been craving since the moment I saw Noah's hands on my angel.
The warehouse sat on the outskirts of the industrial district, an innocuous building that officially belonged to some company that couldn't be traced back to any of us.
Inside was a space designed specifically for nights like this—soundproofed walls, reinforced doors, and a floor with strategically placed drains.
My brothers were already inside, waiting with the guest of honor .
The side entrance opened to my scan, revealing the dim interior not yet blessed by the fragrance of my essential oils.
Connor and Jax stood near a metal table laden with tools, both dressed in black tactical gear that wouldn't show bloodstains.
"Took you long enough," Jax drawled, his gold rings catching the light as he worked on leather gloves.
"Thought maybe you'd decided to be merciful."
"Mercy's not on tonight's menu," I replied, setting my duffel down with a metallic clank.
Connor’s expression was carved from stone. "Everything's prepared," he said, nodding toward the center of the room.
There, suspended from a ceiling beam, hung Noah Brown.
His wrists were bound with thick rope, his body hanging just high enough that his toes barely brushed the concrete floor.
The position would become excruciating within minutes. Shoulders straining, muscles burning from the effort to stay upright.
"Girls settled in?" I asked, pulling up the security feeds on the wall-mounted monitors.
Jax's feed showed Sierra and Estelle curled up on his massive bed, giggling over what looked like photo albums while Leo slept peacefully between them.
"They found my baby pictures," he grumbled, though his eyes softened as he watched Estelle point at something in the album.
"I'm never living down that sailor suit."
I smirked, pulling up my own feed on another monitor. Sure enough, Isla was asleep on my couch, Crew watching over her, still fighting sleep.
The sight of her, safe, calmed the feral energy coursing through me just enough to focus it like a laser.
"Now then," I said, turning my attention to Noah's suspended form, "let's discuss the concept of consequences."
Noah's head lifted slowly, consciousness returning as he became aware of his surroundings.
The fear in his eyes when he saw me was addicting—pure, undiluted terror mixed with knowing that his worst nightmare was about to become reality.
"Adrian," he gasped, voice hoarse and cracking. "Listen, I?—"
"No," I interrupted, pulling my jade knife from its sheath.
The blade caught the fluorescent light, throwing wicked reflections across the walls.
"You had your chance to talk at the park. Now it's time to listen."
“But—”
"You shouldn't have touched her," I cut him off.
“Isla belongs to me. Every strand of hair, every drop of blood, every breath she takes."
I examined the blade under the lights. "And I don't share well with others."
I turned to Jax and Connor, a feral grin spreading across my face.
"Sit back and watch, gentlemen. Noah and I have a lot to discuss."
I rolled my shoulders, cracking my neck. "And I intend to savor every fucking second."
They settled on the metal bench against the wall while I pulled up a metal chair, positioning it directly in front of Noah's suspended form.
His bloodshot eyes tracked my movements, breath coming in ragged gasps as the rope creaked with each involuntary twitch.
"Let's start with the basics," I said, retrieving a pair of needle-nose pliers from my belt. The sharpness gleamed under the lights.
"I'm Adrian. You already know my angel, Isla. And these?" I tapped the pliers against his kneecap. "These are about to become your best friend.”
Noah's head lifted, some of that old arrogance flickering in his bloodshot eyes despite his predicament.
“You... you don't understand," he gasped, his voice hoarse. “She was perfect before you got your hands on her. Sweet, innocent, proper. I was trying to save her from?—"
"From what?" I interrupted, leaning forward with genuine curiosity.
"From being happy? From being loved? From having the best sex of her life?"
His face contorted with disgust and rage. "From becoming some tattooed freak's whore!" The words exploded out of him, spittle flying.